Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel (18 page)

“Well, well, I thought the other pictures were all topnotch,” he exclaimed. “But she’s done you the best of all of us, my lord.”

Lord Dare came forward and took the portrait. Finally he looked at her, but he said nothing.

“By Jove, I’ve never felt so depressingly mortal,” Alan said, peering at it over the marquess’s shoulder. “You are nothing less than godly in this picture, my lord. I’m so jealous, I have half a mind to call you out.” He chuckled.

“It is a perfect likeness,” Penelope said.

Calista folded the sketchbook closed. “It is really nothing to remark upon. I am better acquainted with Lord Dare than I am with everyone else here.”

“How should that matter?” George Smythe said.

“When an artist is familiar with her subject, Father,” Penelope said, “she is often able to render it with greater depth of emotion and much greater intimacy.”

“Good gracious, Penelope. Such talk for a lady!” Mrs. Smythe bustled forward. “I daresay it’s time you called for dinner, Mr. Smythe.”

Penelope cast Calista a resigned glance and tucked her sketchbook away.

They dined, and Lord Dare was as pleasant company with their hosts as ever. But throughout dinner she found him watching her. After dinner, when Molly brought tea and Alan suggested brandy for the gentlemen, she did not retire to finish her book as she had planned. It gave her too much pleasure to feel his gaze upon her.

“Capricia, my niece is drooping,” Alan said to Mrs. Smythe as the last log upon the grate crumbled into embers with a rustle. “The poor girl must be allowed to sleep before we travel tomorrow.” He stood and offered his arm to Penelope. “Allow me to escort you, my dear.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” She offered Calista a grateful smile. “My lady.” She curtsied. “My lord.”

“Well, it’s been a great pleasure, to be sure,” their host exclaimed upon a smothered yawn. “I’ve never yet taken to fashionable hours and I’m drooping as well. Ha! You can take the boy out the countryside, and all that. No, no, don’t go on my account, my lord! Continue on here if you’d like. It’s all paid up through the morning.” He looked about the modest chamber with pride, then departed with his wife.

Calista stood and took up the shawl Elena had lent her earlier in the day and wrapped the soft cashmere around her shoulders. Against her arms in the borrowed gown it felt almost as good as the cat’s fur. She had never before appreciated simple pleasurable sensations on her skin. Now she craved them.

“Will you drink a brandy with me?” The marquess poured from a carafe into two glass tumblers. In even this simple action his hands were beautiful, strong and capable, the hands of a man who actually did something of use with them. She wished she could draw them. She wished she could draw all of him.

Good Lord,
she was all weakness for him. No matter how she tried to defy her fate, Aphrodite would tempt her cruelly.

“It seems that I must, unless you intend to drink both of those,” she said, moving toward him. Soon, no doubt, the goddess would throw up a barricade. She may as well play along with it and suffer her daily dose of pain more quickly.

He gave her the glass.

“Thank you.” She peered into it. “I don’t typically drink brandy.”

“Never a bad time to start.” He tilted his glass to his mouth.

“You are fond of it.”
She knew
. She sipped.

“Yes. Though in offering it to you now my interest is less in the brandy itself than in finding a justification for continuing the evening with you.”

She choked on the sip.

“Are you all right?” He set down his glass. “I did not mean to—”

“You merely surprised me.”
As always
. She backed away a step. Perhaps it was unwise to so eagerly throw herself into the torture.

Every bit of his tall, broad frame seemed too still as he remained where he stood.

“And yet,” he said, “you are not hurrying away as you did earlier today. Despite what I have just said.”

“I think I am staying because of what you have just said.” Staying for the pain. Then she could go to sleep and start the day all over again. And again. And again.

She swallowed the remainder of the brandy and placed the empty glass on the table.

“That picture you drew of me …” he said. “Your pencil was generous.”

Her pencil was
unruly
. “You are too modest, my lord.”

“It is uncanny.”

She should not have done it. She should have drawn him as dispassionately as she had drawn the others. She should have known that Aphrodite would make her pay dearly for her honesty.

“I had the occasion to study you closely for an entire month.” She could not look at him now.

“Ah, yes.” His voice dipped. “The endless teasing.”

“I was little more than a child then. I was poorly behaved to tease you so. But you were arrogant, and far too reserved. I know I have changed. Have you?”

The side of his mouth crept up. “Possibly.”

She could not repress her own smile. “For the better?”

A glimmer of bemusement shone in his eyes. “No other woman speaks to me as you do. No other woman ever has.”

“Because you are
Dare
?”

He laughed, a deep rumble of amusement, and pleasure went straight to her belly. Now it was close: the reversal. She understood Aphrodite’s pattern now. The more pleasure she felt, the happier she was with this man, the closer she was to the disappointment.

“Undoubtedly,” he said, his shadowy eyes reminding her of those days spent in his company, one after another of easy enjoyment, shared so innocently and with such hopeful expectation.

She could not bear it.

She must hurry this along. “You are staring at my lips.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You are still staring.”

“In one manner you have not changed. Your smile is equally as beautiful now as it was then.”

She spread her damp palms over her skirt. “Would you like to kiss me?”
That ought to do it
.

His gaze snapped to her eyes. But he did not break for the door. He came to her, closer than he had come in days, until he stood not a foot away.

“Yes,” he said. “I would. But I don’t wish to impinge upon your grief.”

Damn goddess.

Calista sought words that would end this.

“My husband was ill for some time.” It was not untrue. “I have not been touched by a man in many months.” No other man than this one. But this would serve its purpose. Now he would recoil, or at best retreat. She steeled herself and let her tongue have its way. “I miss being touched.” It was entirely true. “I miss intimate touch. If you wish to touch me now, I would welcome it. In fact I would appreciate it.”

“I don’t know if I want to be appreciated, exactly.”

“What would you prefer?”

He lifted his hand and stroked his knuckles along her cheek so gently, tantalizingly.

“I would prefer to be desired,” he said. “As I desire you.”

“Then you have your preference, my lord,” she said with a catch in her throat.

He set his fingertips beneath her chin and she lifted her face. He bent his head. Her eyelids slipped downward, her breaths disappearing.

“I have wanted to kiss you for six years,” he whispered over her lips.

“Then what are you waiting for?”
What was Aphrodite waiting for?

“Last night I dreamed kissing you. At the ford. In the rain.”

“
What?
”

He drew back a bit to look into her eyes. “The dream was so vivid that I followed you there this morning. Everything about it was almost the same as in my dream. But—”

“Today I carried an umbrella.”
This could not be
.

“Yes.” His gaze scanned her face. “How did you know?”

“I—” She must not hope. She
must not
. “I—”

“And in the dream, your hair was unbound. Wet.”

“Touch me.” Prickles of desperation tangled with excitement. “Now.”

His fingertips braised her brow, strafing her hair. His other hand rose to do the same and he tilted her head back. His hands were warm, and strong and gentle.
Heaven
.

His dipped his head and his lips brushed hers. She swallowed the sensation of delicious man against her lips, and his scent.

Then it was gone.

“That wasn’t enough,” she whispered.

“That was a test.”

“You passed it. Kiss me again.”

“A test of myself. To see if I could halt at that.” His voice was rough.

“Can you?”

“Absolutely not.” He sank his hands into her hair and brought their mouths together.

He tasted her,
as though he wanted to learn her lips, her texture, her flavor, one moment at a time, one kiss, one caress. Then again, and again, slow kisses that explored, that teased until she was drunk on anticipation and the euphoria growing in her body.

She gripped his coat sleeves, pushing onto her toes to meet him closer, to feel him
,
to know him. It wasn’t enough. Aching in places that had never ached for any man but him, she wanted to feel him everywhere. She parted her lips, tasted the heat of his mouth, and a moan escaped her.

“Calista,” he said upon a ragged breath.

Then he delved. Seeking her deeper, he trapped her mouth beneath his. Twisting her fingers in his coat she felt his tongue and hot pleasure went through her. But his arms were locked, holding her at a distance when she was all heat and hunger and desperation for more. For
satisfaction
. She needed his hands on her. She needed her hands on him. If she was allowed this, she wanted it all.

He drew his lips away and his hazy eyes slewed over her face.

“It still isn’t enough,” she said upon an ecstatic quaver. “Not nearly enough.”

His mouth took hers again, and finally his hands descended. Strong and certain they curved down her neck and over her shoulders, then around to her back. Bracketing her hips, he dragged her against him.

She freed her mouth to draw desperate breaths and he kissed her throat, his lips and tongue making her press to him. His hands spread over her behind, his hard thighs were flush with hers, and his arousal was entirely apparent. This was real. Not a dream or fantasy. Real.

She was being allowed this pleasure.

She felt him with her hands, her fingers and palms caressing hard muscle, then the sinews of his neck, and sinking up into his hair as he brought their mouths together again.

“Stop me,” he growled against her lips. “Stop me now.”

“No. I want this. I want you.”

She nipped his jaw and then his lower lip and he caught her mouth and made her kiss him. Then he was pulling up her skirts, grabbing her thighs, and bearing her back up against a table, and lifting her onto it. Their kisses were wild, urgent, as he pressed her thighs apart to move between them. He tugged at her stockings and his hand found skin, and he stroked, caressing her until whimpers broke from her throat. He pushed her skirts to her hips and she could not believe she was feeling this, feeling
him,
that his hands were on her, touching her. Sweeping up her waist, his palm covered her breast.

“Yes.”

His mouth descended, hot and hungry like her flesh that he lit aflame with his kisses on her throat, her neck, the gully of her collar. His hands cupped her breasts and then his mouth was there, tasting and caressing and making her lean into him and beg him for more with the movement of her body. His tongue teased the edge of her bodice, his lips so close to the center of her pleasure where his fingers stroked. It felt so good, deliriously good, a universe of sensation she hadn’t ever imagined. She wanted it to go on and on and on.

And then he released her breast from its confines. Hot, wet, searing pleasure jolted through her from his lips on her bared nipple. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders. This was wicked and real and wanton and all she ever wanted now. How she had ever lived without this—his tongue, his lips on her—she didn’t know. The intensity of it was almost too much. She needed it, needed him, his body against hers. She needed him inside her.

“Kiss me,” she groaned.

He complied, meeting her mouth entirely, and she tightened her thighs around his hips.

“I want to kiss every inch of you.” He traced his thumb over her nipple that was damp from his kiss. “Every beautiful inch.”

“Your bedchamber, or mine?”

“Are you certain? If it’s too soon—”

“I want you to take me upstairs now.” Wild pleasure and hope and joy spun through her. “Then I want you to take me into tomorrow.”

~o0o~

There was no hesitation now, only urgency. His bedchamber door closed and he trapped her between it and his hard body and fed her need with his mouth on her throat and his hands everywhere.

This was her dream.
This
. Being touched by him. Caressed. The violence of her need shocked her, but she let him touch her everywhere, whispering, “Yes,” when his hand came between her legs. Her hunger for it was overpowering. She thrust her hips into his caress and a moan escaped her. Then whimpers. Pleasure built in her where he touched her, coiling tighter and mad for release.

She gripped his arms. “Take me to the bed.”

“Come for me,” he said against her throat, his hand working her. “Come for me here, and then I will take you anywhere you like.”

The pleasure crested, clutching like a fist inside her and then cascading in a thick, hot wave. She gasped, groaned, and clamped her lips shut.

“No,” he said. “Don’t silence yourself. I want to hear your pleasure.”

“But I don’t know—” She struggled for breaths, closing her eyes, trying to shut out the memory of chastisements as the convulsions rippled through her. “I don’t— Perhaps I am frigid.”

He laughed.

Her eyes flew open. Was
this
the end?
Now?

“Why do you laugh at me?”

“The woman who just came against my hand in less than a minute standing up at a door is frigid? Tell me another story.”

A smile pulled at her lips. “You inspire me.”

His hands swept into her hair and his body came against hers, and he surrounded her. He held her to him and kissed her deeply. It was a carnal kiss of lust and desire, and Calista discovered a new sort of need: the need to give a man pleasure.

“I want to make you to feel what I just felt,” she said.

“That won’t be difficult to accomplish.” He kissed her mouth again, as if he were drinking from her. “I cannot seem to get enough of your lips. They entrance me.”

“Remove my clothing,” she said unsteadily, “and perhaps other parts of me will entrance you as well.”

“An ideal plan. But allow me to explore this perfect lower lip for a bit longer.” He drew her lip between his teeth and then used his tongue on it to brilliant effect. She felt it everywhere. “We’ve no need to hurry,” he said.

She closed her eyes.

“Yes,” she murmured, smiling as his mouth traveled to her neck. “We have all night.” And, after that, if she understood one merciful goddess’s game, finally,
tomorrow
.

~o0o~

She was soft and sweet everywhere, from the tip of her pert nose to the ends of her naked toes.

Her toes
. He had never even imagined seeing this woman’s toes, let alone laying kisses in the arch of her foot while her barely clothed body undulated in pleasure on his bed.

“I didn’t know my foot could be so sensitive,” she sighed and laughed at once, her eyes closed, lips smiling. “I am discovering all sorts of delights tonight.”

She was unlike anything he had known of her before. Gone was the girl who had teased him, then fled from him years ago. Gone was the pensive woman at the ford that morning. And gone was the quietly elegant widow at dinner with the others. Now she was all languid heat and questing hands. He had descended to her extremities as much to escape the torture of her hands exploring him when she removed his coat and waistcoat as to make good on his word to kiss her everywhere.

But her lips were too ripe, too pink and delicious to stray from for long. Now, smiling, they made him mad for her.

Surrounding her calf with his hand, he left her perfect foot behind and climbed upward, drawing up her chemise slowly, baring her to his eyes.

“When did you acquire this?” He caressed a scar across her knee as he slipped his other hand along her thigh.

She breathed deeply. Her breasts pressed at the fabric of her chemise, the nipples two taut points, proof of her desire.

“I was nine. Chasing after Ian, I tripped over a stile. He had stolen my— Oh,
my lord
.”

The inside of her thigh was like butter, silky smooth and hotter the higher he went.

“He had stolen your …?” he prompted, leaving her knee to caress the sweep of her thigh and curve of her hip.

“My ribbon,” she panted as he bared her to the waist. She was dark below, like the long, lush satin cascading over the pillow now, and her hips and belly were soft with the beauty of femininity. He kissed her there, where her waist flared to her hip.

“What are you doing?” she said in a raspy hush, her fingers gripping the bed linen to either side.

“Admiring this inch of you. And this inch.” He pressed the garment higher to lay his lips upon one delicate rib, and allowed his hands to cup her breasts through the fabric. “And this inch.” He ran his hand beneath her soft buttocks, and she arched to allow him to draw the garment higher. He uncovered her breasts entirely and nearly groaned aloud. They were perfect, round and full, the aureoles dark and peaks primed for his mouth again. He trailed the tip of his tongue around one and she went perfectly still. He paused.

“Please,”
she whispered.

He stroked his tongue across her nipple and she gasped, and her entire body shuddered. He lingered, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, memorizing the texture of her arousal until his own was unbearably hard. Tugging the chemise higher, he drew it over her head and she was entirely naked before him, in his bed, her brilliant eyes fogged with pleasure and need.

“You are exquisite,” he breathed.

Her lips quivered into a smile. “Yet you remain dressed. Why is that?”

“Body armor.”

She grinned. “I have no weapons.”

This was a mistake. After this, there would be no going back for him, no return to the empty comfort of rationalizing that she was another man’s, that someday he would experience with someone else what he had felt with her from the first. In this moment he was condemning himself to a future alone. But he could not halt it now.

“You are a weapon,” he uttered.

Her smile disappeared. Panic glinted in her eyes. She sat up and her hands went to his shirtfront, swiftly unfastening the button.

“You mustn’t say such a thing.” She tugged the shirttail from his breeches and he allowed her to pull it up and off. She tossed it aside and looked directly into his eyes. Hers were hot with alarm. “Do not think this—here—us—now is anything but right. Anything but— Oh, my.” She stared at his chest. “Look at you.” Five soft fingertips ran from his collarbone down his chest to strafe his abdomen. Then, with apparent resolution, she set to the fasteners on the fall of his breeches.

He reached to her face, curved his hand around her cheek.

“Calista.”

Hands pausing, she lifted her eyes to him.

“Forgive me,” he said.

“Yes.” She blinked. “Yes.” She came to her knees, reached for his shoulders, and climbed onto his lap. Straddling him, she kissed him. “Make love to me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Make love to me now, before it’s too late.”

There was an urgency to her plea he could not ignore. Lowering her to her back, he shucked off his breeches and moved between her legs. Her breaths were fast as he bent his head to take one taut nipple into his mouth. But his cock was hard and aching, and her whimpers signaled her readiness. With his fingertips he stroked her. Lodging himself at her opening, he thrust into her.

“Ohh.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers gripping his arms.

Dear God
. It was too good, too hot and wet and thoroughly perfect. Biting down on his need to move, to feel every tight, glorious clench of her body as he satisfied his hunger, he stroked a lock of silk from her brow. She was no virgin, but it was clear that this was not a woman accustomed to taking a man inside her.

“Open your eyes, Calista.”

Lashes fluttering, her eyelids lifted.

“How long has it been since you last did this?” he said, trailing his fingertips along her cheek to the quick beat of her pulse in her throat.

“This is happening,” she whispered, her gaze traveling over his face, her palms flattening on his arms, then slipping smoothly to his sides. “It is real. I haven’t woken up.”

“This is real.” He kissed her lips and her hands tightened on him. But he held tight to his control. He had waited six years for this. He could wait another few minutes. “Are you ready?”

Upon a glorious smile she said, “I was ready weeks ago,” and thrust her hips into his.

It was a toss-up as to who took whom.

With her hands on his back and buttocks she caressed him and pulled him to her, sending his self-control to perdition. With her body she begged for him, shifting and rocking to find her pleasure, and drawing him deeper into her upon each wild coupling. And with her whimpers and gasps she told him she wanted more, until he was driving into her, the intensity of each deep thrust beyond pleasure. He held on, and on, and on, and held back, fighting the pressure, the burn to release until it gripped him in the ballocks.

“Calista.” He struggled for control. “I’ve got to—”

“I never knew it could be like this.” She strained to him, her hands on his chest, then lower, making him insane. Her eyes were closed and she was working him with her body, her thighs a cradle of sublime strength. “It is
bliss
.”

“Bliss that’s shortly to end,” he choked out. He snatched her hands away from his skin. “You must slow down.
Now
.” But it was too late; his release came, surging and seizing his cock. “
Calista
.”

And he lost himself in her.

Pleasure swallowed him. She was moaning, calling out words, pulling his mouth to hers and gasping against his lips as her body shook beneath his.

And then she was laughing. And laughing and laughing in unrestrained joy. And holding him tight and covering his neck and shoulder with kisses from her sweet, sweet mouth.